


Lady in Red

by whereismywarden (PearOh)



Series: Non-canon DA stories [12]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Addiction, Body Horror, F/M, Horror, It's kinda messed up tbh, Lyrium Withdrawal, Nightmares, Open at your own risk, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Re-upload, Red Lyrium, Smut, Vomiting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-18
Updated: 2020-08-18
Packaged: 2021-03-05 22:06:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,138
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25972597
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PearOh/pseuds/whereismywarden
Summary: Samson craves red lyrium, but he also craves the Inquisitor. He wants both so badly it becomes unbearable.
Relationships: Female Inquisitor/Raleigh Samson
Series: Non-canon DA stories [12]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1855102
Kudos: 17





	Lady in Red

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally a chapter in a longfic I was writing. I've recently taken the fic down because it no longer matched my canon, but this chapter was fairly self-contained so I figured I could re-upload it.

Samson lay on his bed naked, his clothes discarded in the heat of passion. Violette sat on top of him, pinning him down firmly with her hands, her sex brushing against his. He felt himself growing harder with each slow, sensual movements of her hips, with each caress, with each soft sigh.

A groan escaped him as she bent down to plant a trail of kisses down his collarbone, nipping and licking his flesh like a starving animal who couldn’t wait to devour its prey. Her loose curls were falling on his face, tickling his nose and cheeks. Breathing in her earthy scent, he released another quiet groan, his erection becoming almost too much to bear.

“Do you want me?” she purred into his ear.

“Yes…”

“How much do you want me? What would you do for me?”

“Anything…” he breathed.

She lowered herself onto him with cruel slowness and started rocking her hips gently against him. Maker, he'd almost forgotten how good it felt, being inside someone, the warmth and softness enveloping him in a blanket of euphoria. He let out a small whimper and leaned back into the thin mattress.

She ran her hands over his chest, warm and wet like the damp sheets around them. He bucked his hips and she began moving faster, her rhythm matching his with perfection. She was beautiful, an elven goddess standing tall above him, eyes glowing red in the dim light. She slid up and down his length with increasing intensity, her small breasts bouncing in rhythm with each slam of their hips together.

Samson brought one of his rough, rugged hands up to grab one of those tempting fruits. He squeezed them, fondled them ardently, spreading red over her tits as she moaned his name in long, drawn-out syllables. His heart skipped a beat. He stared at the syrupy red liquid he'd left on her pale, freckled flesh. It wasn't their lust soaking the sheets. It was lyrium, red and glimmering like a blanket of ambers. It was everywhere; in the bed, on the floor, in the walls. Samson caught in a breath. He needed it. He needed the lyrium. He needed the red. But more than anything, he needed her. Sitting up, he took her left breast into his mouth hungrily and started to swirl his tongue around the tip, licking the lyrium off her body.

“Oh, Samson!” she moaned, wrapping her arms around his neck. 

He fucked her harder, the lyrium giving him a renewed vigour. She called out his name again, screaming it at the top of her lungs as she struggled to keep up with him. He kissed her hard, restlessly. She slid her tongue inside his mouth, drinking the lyrium from his lips with her own sloppy, hungry kisses.

When she spoke again, her voice was like a dream, surprisingly calm and peaceful, echoing through the night like a haunting memory. “Are you going to kill me?”

“No,” he whispered hoarsely.

Violette tilted her head to the right, staring at him with a puzzled expression. “Why are you helping me?”

“Because I—” Her folds clenched around him. She came loudly, her moans almost drowning out the creaking of the bed. He groaned. He could feel himself getting close to the edge. “I love you,” he confessed between ragged breaths, his fingers digging deep into her thighs as he felt his release approaching.

Violette tensed, a confused look on her face. Then, as he was about to apologize, her eyes went wide and she suddenly started choking.

“Vee?” Samson panicked.

He slid away from under her. He should have tried to help her — he _wanted_ to help her, to administer the emergency care he had learned during his Templar training, but he found himself unable to move. He watched in horror as her face contorted into a silent scream.

Lyrium was dripping from her gaping mouth in long red strings, down her chin and onto the breasts he had previously been ravishing. He heard the sound of bones shattering as solid pieces started sprouting from her chest, enveloping her body in solid crystals. When it was over, all that remained of her was a grotesque husk kneeling in front of him, frozen in time like a statue carved out of red lyrium.

Samson woke up abruptly, his sheets soaking wet. Sweat, not lyrium.

Bending over the side of the bed, he vomited the content of his stomach on the floor. He had thought that particular struggle was finally behind him. The blue lyrium the healers had been giving him had helped quench his thirst. He had not craved the red for over a week now and the nightmares had stopped. Until now.

But maybe this one had nothing to do with his addiction. Maybe it had been born from the frustration he felt whenever Violette walked into his room. She was so close to him, yet she remained untouchable. She was the Inquisitor. He knew he could never have her and he'd come to terms with that painful fact, but her constant flirting was like torture to him. He never should have offered to help her.

Or maybe it had nothing to do with her either. Maybe it was the guilt of his sins finally coming back to haunt him. He had told himself it was a necessary sacrifice. He had told himself his men's suffering was for the greater good. But had it really been worth it, in the end? Wouldn't the world have been better off if he'd followed Cullen instead of Corypheus? No, he told himself, the magister would have found another puppet to control. And perhaps this was what hurt the most. Nothing he had done would matter in the end. He had lost and now everything he’d fought for would fade into oblivion.

He still felt nauseous even after his stomach was done heaving. Perhaps it was the growing shame brought on by his lingering erection. Perhaps it was what he did next. Taking himself into his calloused hand, he stroked his hard cock frantically. The faster he was done with it, the better. He felt no satisfaction when he spilt onto his belly, only the relief that it was over. 

Using the bedsheet to clean up his mess, he threw the covers aside and walked to the small basin he kept in a corner. He filled it with fresh water from the nearby jug and splashed his face once, twice… before throwing the bowl against the wall in anger.

Samson let himself fall back down on his bed, curling up into a ball like the mage children used to do their first night in the Gallows. He didn't sleep again that night, fearing that the nightmare would come back to haunt him the second he shut his eyes.


End file.
